


RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH: Special Episode!

by ManbroBukkakeTheatre



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Forced Orgasm, M/M, Public Humiliation, brobot just wants some goddamn screen time and some ass no biggie, sexbot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManbroBukkakeTheatre/pseuds/ManbroBukkakeTheatre
Summary: Fuck that robot Jake. Fuck that sexy robot.
Relationships: Brobot/Jake English
Kudos: 24





	RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH: Special Episode!

“CAN ANYONE BEAT THE ABSOLUTE WHIRLWIND THAT IS JAKE ENGLISH!!!!” You roar, firing your pistols into the ceiling. The material was made for holding bullets anyway you don’t have to worry about searing hot bullet shells falling onto your adorable consorts. RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH had been dropping in viewership lately, but you absolutely did not mind! You were doing this for the love of the tussle, and the strapping folks who decided to watch were welcome to enjoy the show! 

It seemed like no one was going to step up, so you- wait. 

The gleam of a metallic body flashes around you and your head snaps left and right to keep up with its speed. 

Oh FUCK no! 

The robot that haunted a good chunk of your childhood reveals itself with a grey blur, solidifying in front of you in a too-familiar battle stance. 

DEVILED FUCKING DICKENS IT ALWAYS HAD TO BE THIS WAY DIDN’T IT? 

Oh confound it! You just hope your older and sturdier build will lend you an advantage over him. “Welcome to the pumpkin patch, brave challenger. And good luck!!” 

And you give the cameras a wink, despite feeling utterly hopeless about this fight. Brobot slings his sword over his shoulder and shoots you a spirited thumbs down, followed by all those secret limbs he never actually had to deploy against you. It was mind numbingly terrifying but you suppose also a little... nostalgic? You have a lot of mixed feelings about this old chap!! 

He doesn’t give you the time to sort out those feelings before he’s disappeared in another flashstep. You won’t lie, you’ve gotten a little rusty without such an enthusiastic sparring partner, but you know his movements almost by heart and your eyes can track him, if only just barely. 

For the first time in a while, you utterly regret the fact that the light dances in a prismatic array of hues when a steel fist slams you upside the jaw. Your head spins magnificently but you will NOT allow this battle to end in one hit! You stumble back, keeping your feet, golden pistols at the ready to- oh CRIPES! 

He flashsteps behind you and kicks your knees out, sending you crashing unceremoniously to the floor. Before you can recover, he’s grabbing your wrists and twisting them till your joins scream and your guns clatter haplessly to the stage. FUCK! You hadn’t even fired a single shot past the opening round, and Dirk wasn’t even here to keep his fucking robot in line. Naturally, you’re seething. 

“Alright you rambunctious bag of bolts, you want a wrestle? I’ll give you a wrestle!” And because Dirk and his propensity for ambushes has forced you to get creative, you manage to swing yourself up and catch his head between your knees in a move you just invented, and lurch your core hard enough to- 

Yikes. 

Brobot’s head comes clean out of its socket and you fumble for a second when it all comes crashing down on you. Next thing you know, you’ve got robo-crotch in your bruised face and well, robo-face in your bruised crotch. Also the wind is most certainly knocked out of you and Brobot, while relatively light for a steel fucking robot is still really god darn heavy. The consorts chatter at your predicament but none make a move to help. Disgruntled, you do an awkward shimmy out from under the motionless figure and get to your feet. 

“Well,” you turn on the mic tucked into your collar, hopefully you don’t sound too flustered,”Looks like we have a winner, folks!” Your victory is uproarious, or at least the consorts were. They hopped around in their seats and the salamanders enthusiastically filled the air with bubbles, making the already psychedelic lighting even more hard to handle with your quickly growing headache. Dirk never hit you in the head this hard, not on film anyway, god the lights. 

Taking pity on the mechanical mess at your feet, you prop Brobot up by the shoulder and gently screw his head back on. It won’t do for you to start breaking Dirk’s shit, especially not his years-long childhood project. “Steady now, old chap,” you mutter, it was decidedly nostalgia you feel, spinning the head firmly in place like you had all those years ago. Hopefully it wouldn’t enter stalking mode as soon as you were done. His pointy shades flash red when you can’t twist further, signalling that the bot was online again. 

Well, after getting sucker punched in the gut, you wish he’d entered stalking mode. 

You fall back with a cry, and Brobot catches you by the collar of your shirt, and delicately applies that same punch to your face. Did you say delicately? You meant violently. Very violently. Your vision flickers out like a light, not before you hear the crunch of your glasses though, and think about the tongue-lashing you’re going to give Dirk if you survive this. 

…

When you come to you try for a “blimey” but a hoarse moan escapes your lips instead. God your neck hurts, but the rest of you feels, so, unbelievably, good. 

You snap awake, thrashing in place with a strangled yelp. Brobot’s holding you in the air with a hand wrapped around your throat, tightened mercilessly. His other hand— hands— he’s got them deployed all over your body, stroking, squeezing— your thoughts struggle to link together and you’re left whimpering quietly and fighting in futility against those buzzing metallic hands. And they were buzzing away happily, against your chest where it pressed you tight to his warm body, and your thigh, holding your leg in place and more importantly, against where your cock strained in your skin tight shorts. 

Gee willy, this was a real pickle you were in. The lights flash, and you remember that you’re in a stadium full of fans, staring agog at your tented shorts. You can only assume that’s what they were doing, because your glasses have been removed from their trusty post on your nose and you can’t see shit. 

Ohhhhh bollocks. You struggle desperately to look for the pink turtle manning the camera and slide a shaky hand across your neck as a cue to cut the blasted camera. The poor thing freezes up and recedes into its shell (you think? It was a little hard to tell), probably taking your gesture as a threat. You can’t even perform a frustrated facepalm because right then Brobot sprouts two more arms to restrain you by the wrists. Instead of whatever curse you were planning to spit, you squeak when his hand slips up and under your waistband and cups your bulge through your boxers. The layer of cotton between his hard fingers and your aching member is barely a respite when it provides such delicious friction. Unhappily, you moan your pleasure, because lord willing it was just like Dirk to unleash his fight/sexbot on you in the middle of a goddamn broadcast. You’re starting to think he did this on purpose! 

“Ngh!” You shiver when he finally wraps those cold fingers around your cock and jeepers that felt good. “Consarn it,” you mutter past the fist around your neck, straining your words till they were barely a whisper. You hear the mechanisms inside of Brobot begin humming and aren’t given a chance to puzzle out those implications before electricity crackles around your sensitive cock. Your eyes widen and the surge hits you— screaming, you shriek and thrash involuntarily, ears popping from the tension in your body as you spasm in agony. He releases you and you’re left trembling like a leaf in a storm, and you’re certain if he wasn’t already hoisting you into the air, you’d be a crumpled pile of limbs on the floor. 

“Ah-hnn!“ you hiccup, head spinning so hard you feel like you’re going to throw up. Despite everything, you’re so hard in your shorts you… you’re not in your shorts. Brobot had pulled them down to your thighs and now your erection was bobbing in the open air. The heat scalds you to the neck, arousal and mortification all at once, and you’re not sure whether you’d cover your face or your dick if your hands were free. It’s not like it mattered, you’re just aware of the fact that everyone and their mother had already seen your boner on screen and the thought sets alight a deep burn in your belly. 

You would take the time to ruminate on it if Brobot didn’t shove a finger into your ass just then, making you yelp aloud. He sets a painful rhythm that would have been quite pleasant in a bedroom behind closed doors, because the fingers curling inside you was making you gasp and tremble up a tizzy. You didn’t want to have all eyes on you while this was happening, but the idea of being so exposed, so seen, was quite frankly making you horny as hell. You don’t want to be horny as hell on live television, you want to be cool and badass!!! Despite your wishes, Brobot teases the moans from you almost effortlessly, and it really isn’t so hard when you’re giving it up to him just like that. It only occurs to you now you should probably try to stop him. 

“Ah- ah! S-stop!” You whine, hips jerking when he uses your prostate like a goddamn button. “Unhand me- nngah!” You struggle, really really try to, but he twists your arms until you don’t know whether to scream or moan, and pulls your legs apart so that you couldn’t hide yourself even if you wanted to. You-you do want to! You strain against him, not liking how your cock throbs when the metal doesn’t give an inch. “Let go you b-boorish rustbucket!!! Arghh!” 

“Desist.” 

“W-what?” It could talk?! The last time you’d dealt with this thing it could only bleat, for ironic and strategic purposes of course. You kick your feet out pathetically. “Fuck you!” 

He doesn’t give you another response, deigning to slip another digit into you and enthusiastically finger you open. You really don’t want to know what kind of face you’re making, not when Brobot begins jerking you off with the patience of a man who had the whole night at his disposal. The whole night to make a fool out of you evidently if you’re going to keep sounding out like a paid whore! You feel his hard fingers stroke over your walls and you clench up quite uselessly over them, unintentionally intensifying the sensation. 

You feel Brobot begin humming again and the vibration starts up even stronger in his hands, making you choke on your own spit. You’re drooling, and so turned on it almost hurts. The buzz against that bundle of sensitive nerves, making your hips jerk to get away, only to buck right into his slick, thundering grip. The pleasure builds and your head pounds with it. It’s- you can’t- you cry out, shame coiling heavy inside your gut when you finally judder in orgasm. The flashing lights are nothing compared to the cacophony in your head, a chemical rush of euphoria, humiliation, rage and helplessness. They fold over each other, heaping over you until you can barely breathe. 

You’re on your knees again, arms folded across your back as your face is ground into the stage floor. The crackling electricity starting to build sparks less fear than when you remember that robots don’t get tired, and he’s not done with you just yet. 

———

When you find Brobot, it’s already had his way with Jake for a good few hours. You flashstep forward, cutting the camera and signalling for the show to close its curtains. Traumatised consorts begin to file their way out of the building, and you wonder irritably why they didn’t just do that sooner. Stupid rephibians. 

You approach the two of them on stage, Brobot looking up to give you a thumbs up of acknowledgement. You get close enough to pull its head off and captchalogue the body with it. Stupid robot. 

Jake is left sprawled with his back flat on the ground, looking so blitzed out that he is totally unaware of the copious amounts of drool leaving his mouth. Oh you can’t not do him justice. He looks totally hot all fucked out like this, still twitching from the aftershocks of whatever earth shattering orgasm Brobot had managed to coerce out of his gorgeous cock. And it was gorgeous, even flaccid against his belly, streaked with white mess. His hair is another mess, fringe sticking to his forehead in sweaty clumps and eyes half lidded with afterglow. You hope it was afterglow and your friend wasn’t slowly decomposing on the floor. Please let it be mind numbing afterglow and not the other thing. God. He isn’t moving anymore. “English?” You call, nudging his leg with a foot. 

“Crikey,” Jake croaks in a manner unbefitting a dead man and you breathe out in taut relief. 

“Sorry. You okay?” 

“Strider is that you? You’re in for- one hell of a walloping when I-“ he struggles to breathe here, and you might be worried if you aren’t aware of the fact that he’s handled far worse,”-when I wake up.” Like that Jake goes out cold, cheek in his own drool puddle. 

Well that was a lot of grief you could have spared him. You won’t lie, you miscalculated a lot with the brobot but it won’t happen again. You guys are all kinds of lucky that no one but your most depraved fans are tuned in this late at night… you hope they keep their footage to themselves. 

Oops?


End file.
